


Muffin Tops

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-26 04:59:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6224950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bull owns a bakery. Dorian owns an art gallery. 100% pure, tooth-rotting fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I suggested the name of an Adoribull bakery--Muffin Tops (and Bottoms)--and lonicera-caprifolium responded with the absolutely amazing picture posted below. And of course, then I couldn't resist.
> 
> If you love Adoribull sweetness, do yourself a favor and click the image to check out their tumblr. Their artwork is pure joy.

[ ](http://lonicera-caprifolium.tumblr.com/post/140727795118/a-bakery-that-hands-out-kissy-pics-sounds-a-lot)

Leaning on the half-door to the bakery, Bull drew in a deep breath of clean spring air. Sweat dried on his back from the heat in the kitchen, and he had flour all over his pants (probably some in them too–that shit got everywhere). The sun was shining, birds were singing, and word had spread about the cupcakes he’d made for Lady Nightingale’s latest erotic poetry reading. He and the boys had enough orders to keep them busy for weeks.

All in all, it was a damn good day.

It got even better when the hottest ’Vint he’d ever seen wandered up. The man’s eyes flicked from Bull to the name on the window and then back to the seven-foot-tall qunari in the frilly pink apron. It took most people a second to process the whole image.

“Can I help you?” Bull asked.

“Uh…” The ’Vint’s tongue darted out to lick his lips before he straightened his shoulders. “Yes. I’m here to pick up an order. The name is Felix Alexius.”

“Ah!” Bull grinned. “The penis cake.”

The ’Vint’s eyes flew wide. “What?”

“Hey, Kreme Puff!” Bull called over his shoulder. “Guy’s here for his penis!”

“Almost done!” Krem called back.

Bull turned back to the ’Vint, who’d gone an adorable shade of pink. “Krem’s a genius with frosting. You’ll want to lick it right off,” he added with a wink.

The ’Vint opened his mouth… and then closed it again. His gaze dropped to the pavement, and he looked about two seconds from just bolting without his order.

Shit. Bull hadn’t meant to make the guy uncomfortable. He bent a little lower to try and catch his eye. “So…” he offered. “What’s the occasion, Felix?”

The ’Vint raised his head. “What? Oh…” His blush faded a bit as his shocked look faded into a scowl. “I’m not Felix.” He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Felix is a friend. An asinine friend with a horrible sense of humor.”

“One of those, huh?” Bull reached across to grab a cupcake from the display window. He held it out to the ’Vint with a smile. “Here. On the house.”

The ’Vint’s eyes did another tour of the sign, Bull’s horns, and the proffered pastry, and Bull’s smile widened to a grin.

“Just red velvet,” he promised. “Nothing kinky.”

After another moment of hesitation, the ’Vint raised a hand to take the cupcake. Bull didn’t even try to “accidentally” brush his fingers over the smooth skin of the guy’s wrist.

“Thank you…” The guy trailed off with a raised eyebrow.

“The Iron Bull. You?”

“Dorian,” the ’Vint replied. “Dorian Pavus.” He didn’t take a bite of the cupcake, but he didn’t look like he planned to chuck it out either. He just held it in one hand as if he wasn’t quite sure how it had gotten there.

“Well, Dorian,” Bull said, “welcome to Muffin Tops.”

Dorian glanced at the sign, and for the first time, a slight curl of his lips twitched his mustache. “And Bottoms?” he asked, nodding toward the name on the window.

Bull laughed. “Hell yeah. I love bottoms.”

“Good to know,” Dorian murmured, and his tongue slipped out again to lick a stripe of frosting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More art by lonicera-caprifolium! Click the images and go to their tumblr! You will be so happy you did.

[ ](http://lonicera-caprifolium.tumblr.com/)

The third time Skinner made a noise, the only word for it was _growl_.

Bull grinned at her from the other side of the counter. “Am I keeping you from something?”

“From selling muffins,” she spat. “You take too long.”

“You won’t sell anything if none of them survive the trip,” he told her as he carefully tucked the last of his morning’s work into the basket. “Where you gonna hit today?”

She crossed her arms and glared at him before deigning to answer. “New office park on 43rd.”

He knew the place. High-class part of town full of stuffed shirts who might not take kindly to an elven woman daring to walk among them. And some who might like it too much. But he knew if he warned her off, she’d just chew him out and then go anyway, so he just nodded as he handed the basket over.

But before he let go, he pulled his keys from his pocket with his other hand. “Take the van,” he said, holding them out to her.

She tugged on the basket handle but couldn’t break his grip. “I have the scooter,” she snapped.

“The van,” he said in his boss voice. “It’s more reliable.” Plus, it made a decent hiding spot if anybody should cause problems. Anybody meaning Skinner and whatever she might do to a handsy asshole who could call security.

She glared a while longer and then snatched the keys from him. He loosened his grip on the basket slowly, so she wouldn’t go flying back. Once all the weight was on her, she had to grasp the handle with both hands. She heaved it toward the back of the shop, cursing him under her breath the whole way.

As he finished putting away the plastic wrap and the stickers with the bakery’s logo on it, he just barely heard a knock from the front. He thumped on the wall to the decorating room, where Krem was singing. Loudly. And off-key. To some awful shit that the kids were into these days.

“Turn it down!” he hollered.

“Piss off!” Krem yelled back. “I’m making art!”

Shaking his head, Bull went out to the front, hoping the knock he heard was the first. Business was good, but he didn’t like turning potential customers away.

He grinned when he saw the hot ’Vint from the day before looking somehow ever hotter in a tight black shirt with sunglasses perched on his head. He sipped from a coffee while scrolling through something on his phone.

“Back for more?” Bull asked as he leaned on the half-door.

[ ](http://lonicera-caprifolium.tumblr.com/)

“Actually, yes,” the ’Vint–Dorian–replied with none of the previous day’s stumbling. “I’ve been facing a problem with an event I have coming up, and you may provide the solution.”

Bull considered asking if the event was in his pants but decided to let it slide. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Dorian’s thumb flicked across the phone’s screen again. “I went to your website last night-”

“Googling me already?” Bull asked with a grin.

Dorian’s eyes lifted from the screen to give him a flat look before lowering again. “Ah,” he said. He held up the phone with the screen facing Bull. “I was intrigued by this one.”

Bull had to hold a hand over the phone to see through the sun’s glare. “The aquarium cake?”

Dorian nodded. “As it happens, the event I’m planning has a similar theme, and I’d be interested in getting a price estimate for a modified version.”

“Sure,” Bull said, pulling his notepad and pencil from his apron pocket. “You need a cake that size or something bigger?”

“I was thinking smaller actually.”

Bull raised an eyebrow. “Cupcakes?”

“Petit-fours,” Dorian said. Then a slight crease furrowed the space between his eyebrows. “Is that workable?”

“Anything’s workable,” Bull replied. “The only question is how much Krem will bitch about it.”

That got half a smile from the ’Vint. “I’ll try not to be too onerous a client.”

“Puts you one up on some customers,” Bull said. He flipped open the notepad. “Tell me about this event.”

“It’s a soft opening for a show at my gallery. The sort of thing that’s usually covered by a limp cheese plate, but I’d like to try something different.”

After jotting that down, Bull waved the pencil at the phone. “And you’re thinking something like the aquarium cake?”

“The art features mermaids. And mermen, I suppose.”

Sounded like weird shit, but Bull wasn’t one to judge. “I’m guessing you don’t want any kitschy shit? No spun-sugar starfish?”

“Maker, no,” Dorian huffed. The way it twitched his mustache was fucking adorable. “I was attracted more to the cake itself.”

Bull nodded. “The iridescent fondant?” They’d gotten a lot of compliments on that effect.

“Yes, exactly. Could you do something similar on petit-fours?”

“Like I said, I just got to keep _my_ ’Vint from pitching a fit,” he said with a nod toward the back. “How many people are you expecting?”

“Invitations for sixty went out.” Then he crossed his arms as he huffed another breath. “Or at least I hope they did. Sometimes I wonder about the Fereldan postal service.”

“Shittiest in Thedas,” Bull agreed. He didn’t miss much about Par Vollen, but a tightly run bureaucracy was on the short list. “Does the sixty include plus-ones?”

“It had better,” Dorian said. “I don’t have much room.”

“We’ll plan for eighty, so you’ll want at least 250 cakes.”

Dorian turned away a bit, ostensibly to tuck his phone back into his bag, but Bull noticed the tension in his shoulders as he asked, “And how much would that cost me?”

“Depends,” Bull answered. “You willing to give us some free advertising?”

When Dorian looked up from his bag, he glanced at the bakery sign with a dubious expression. “What did you have in mind?”

Bull grinned and went back inside to grab some of the table tents he’d had made up. Nothing fancy, just plain white with “Muffin Tops” and their URL in gold letters. Above the words perched a pair of pastry bags curved to look like horns. He went back to the door and let a second pass before handing one over, knowing Dorian was expecting the worst. Dorian steeled himself before looking down and then slumped in noticeable relief.

He nodded. “Yes, that’s fine. I have no objection to having a few of those on the table.”

“Great,” Bull said. “Then I can cut you a deal.” He did a little figuring in his notepad, how many hours it would take for him and Krem, what they had on hand, what they’d need to buy or whip up themselves. “When’s this little shindig going down?”

“That… may pose another difficulty,” Dorian admitted. “The opening is next Friday.”

Bull glanced up from his notepad. “That’s only eight days away.” He scratched at the stubble on his jaw with the pencil’s eraser. “We’re pretty booked.”

“I apologize.” Dorian shook his head. “I should have mentioned that upfront.” His lips curled in that little half-smile again. “Will that raise the level of bitching to unacceptable levels?”

Bull felt himself smiling back. “Nah. I’ve got a pretty high tolerance.” He held out the notepad and pencil. “Write down your number.” When Dorian raised an eyebrow, Bull laughed. “I’ll text you with an estimate, and if you’re on board, I’ll send a formal invoice. You can probably write off some of the cost.”

“Not a bad thought,” Dorian mused as he scrawled across the open page. “Though Fereldan tax law ranks right below the postal service for sheer incomprehensibility.”

Bull snorted as he accepted the notepad back. “No shit. Luckily I know a guy. If you want, I can send you his number too. Us small business owners gotta watch each other’s backs.”

For a second, Dorian seemed as lost for words as he had been when Bull had announced his penis cake. “I… thank you. Yes. I’d appreciate that.”

“No problem,” Bull said with a shrug. But he couldn’t resist asking. “So… how’d you like the cake?” 

The palest hint of color rose in Dorian’s cheeks, but he smirked. “Delicious. And remarkably… realistic. It was quite a hit.”

“You never did tell me what the occasion was,” Bull noted, leaning his arms against the half-door again.

Dorian waved a hand. “Just a birthday party. My roommate’s colleague. She seemed to enjoy it, and her wife thought it was hilarious.”

“Wait,” Bull laughed. “ _Her_ wife? Your friend had you take a dick cake to a lesbian’s birthday party?”

“As I said,” Dorian sighed, “asinine. Felix seemed to think it a suitable ice breaker for a roomful of people I barely know.”

“And did it break the ice?” Bull asked.

“In the sense of drowning in a frozen sea of humiliation?” Dorian retorted, but he was still smiling. “No, it truly was a hit. Just not normally the way I choose to introduce myself.”

“I don’t know,” Bull drawled. “Maybe you should give it a chance. Could work for you.”

Dorian laughed, and Bull couldn’t help but smile in response. “I’ll stick with a handshake for now. And _please_ don’t get any ideas about the petit-fours.”

Bull raised his right hand and pasted on a solemn expression. “Nothing but class.” Then his grin returned. “It’s a shame about your friend’s party though. I make a mean vagina cupcake.”

“Is that so?” Dorian asked, still chuckling.

“Yep. Cunt-cakes, Krem calls ’em, though we don’t tend to write that on the chalkboard out front.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, but his smile remained. “I can’t imagine why.” Then he fixed Bull with a narrow, teasing look from those smoky eyes. “You may remember you were trying to convince me of your class.”

“Iridescent, glittery petit-fours,” Bull promised. “No dicks.” Looking up at the sky, he tapped the pencil against his lower lip. “Though maybe we should try that fondant on the dick cakes. They could be merman dicks.” He looked back to Dorian. “Are mer-dicks a thing?”

“I have no idea,” Dorian replied. “But on that note, I think I’m going to leave before this conversation gets any more bizarre.” He held out his hand for Bull to shake. “I’ll look for your text.”

His hand seemed small in Bull’s, but his grip had real strength behind it. “Thanks for the repeat business.”

“Yes, of course.” As Bull held the handshake, that little blush returned to Dorian’s cheeks. It lingered even after he let go. “Until later then.”

Bull nodded. “Later.”

Dorian returned his nod, then pulled his sunglasses back over his eyes. Bull watched as he walked away before he went whistling back to work.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feast your eyes on more art by lonicera-caprifolium! Go to their tumblr and tell them how amazing they are!

Eight days of nonstop bitching from Krem finally ended when Bull closed the last box of petit-fours and told him to go home. Bull snapped a photo of the stack of boxes and sent it to Dorian, who sent a fervent "Thank you!!!" in response almost immediately. Bull smiled as he scrolled through the rest of their texts. They started with the estimate and then the invoice. Then Bull had made the mistake of asking for more detail on the color scheme for the fondant. From then on, his inbox was buried in Pantone swatches, photos from baking websites, and random stock photos of the ocean. Bull didn't mind; Dorian was a perfectionist who knew what he wanted, and Bull could respect that. The real assholes were the ones who didn't know what they wanted, they just knew they didn't want what you'd done.

Even so, he couldn't resist sending Dorian a photo of Krem flicking off the camera as he rolled out the fondant for the third time.

[ ](http://lonicera-caprifolium.tumblr.com/)

He was running short on time, so Bull make quick work of counting out the register and locking up. Fortunately his commute wasn't a problem. Three steps from the bakery door was the door that led to his apartment upstairs. He unlocked it and hustled up the stairs for a quick shower. Choosing what to wear wasn't a problem either; he only owned about two outfits that didn't consist of a Hawaiian-type shirt worn soft with age and a pair of ratty jeans. He went with a black T-shirt that wasn't threadbare enough to see skin and had a wide V-neck that could go over his horns and a pair of black slacks. He looked a little like he was headed to a funeral, but that was as close as he got to what he imagined was gallery appropriate. 

As he was packing the boxes in the van, he got another text from Dorian--a photo of the outside of the gallery. It looked like a hole in the wall, but the exposed brick was nice and the logo etched on the glass door--a stylized blue peacock--caught the last of the sun's rays. The shot looked good, a little like an ad, and though Dorian wrote that he wanted Bull to be able to find the place, Bull got the feeling he was showing off a little. He deserved to. The place might look like the sort of hipster joint that would attract people with more style than sense, but Bull had done a bit of Googling too, and a respected arts journal had pegged Dorian's place as an up-and-coming boutique gallery. This new show was make or break.

Which was why Bull allowed himself plenty of time to get there. Good thing too. Traffic was hell, and it took him twenty minutes to find a nearby parking space. Even so, he showed up at the gallery exactly one hour before the opening and rang the bell beside the glass door. After a minute, Dorian pulled it open, somehow looking simultaneously frantic and completely put-together at the same time. He was all in black too, but he wore a button-down shirt with the sleeves artfully rolled to just above the elbow. His wrists were adorned with a variety of gold bangles, and gold earrings dangled from his ears. He looked Bull over with eyes lined in black and dusted with gold powder, lingering a bit where the sleeves of Bull's shirt cut across his biceps. Bull must have passed inspection because Dorian nodded and stepped aside to let him into the hallway beyond the door.

"At least one of my vendors can keep his promises," Dorian sighed as he led Bull down the dimly lit corridor.

"Having problems?" Bull asked.

Dorian waved a hand. "It's an old building, and my Internet is spotty. My provider doesn't seem to care that the outages could murder my livelihood."

"I know a guy who can help with that if you want," Bull offered. "Set up my network, and I haven't had a problem since."

Dorian threw a smile over his shoulder. "You seem to know a lot of guys."

Bull grinned back. "I'm a friendly person."

The hallway ended in a room the size of all the back rooms at the bakery combined, which Bull supposed was still small for a gallery. He was expecting cold white walls, bright lights, the whole museum vibe, but instead the interior brick was painted a deep gray overlaid with a gold stipple effect. Gauzy fabrics in muted shades of blue and green hung at the corners, softening the edges of the room. Instead of music, the sound of ocean waves played so quietly it was almost subliminal, and the lighting was a cool, soft white. It all could have been distracting, but instead the overall effect served as a perfect backdrop for the paintings on display.

Which were fucking incredible. They were all the same size and shape--rectangles about two feet by four feet--and they were all portraits (of mermaids, no less), but each one might as well have been from a completely different artist. Instead of weird cartoony shit, the artist had pained what were obviously real people and given them tails whose color determined the palette for the painting. No matter the subject--old, young, fat, thin, dwarf, human, elf, even a qunari--and no matter the expression--sad, hopeful, angry, content--Bull felt like he was looking into the deepest parts of the person depicted.

"Holy shit," he breathed. For some reason, he couldn't speak above a whisper.

"I know," Dorian murmured back. "They say a picture's worth a thousand words, but I feel I could read an entire biography of each subject and still not understand them as well as I do looking at these."

"Where'd you find this guy?" Bull asked.

When he glanced at Dorian, he was surprised to find the man frowning. "On the streets of Val Royeaux."

Bull raised his eyebrow. "Like the literal streets?"

Dorian nodded and then looked up at him, the corners of his eyes tight with his scowl. "He'd been duped by some charlatan posing as an agent. Gave him everything. He was left penniless, homeless. A literal starving artist."

Bull glanced around at the gorgeous artwork around them and whistled. "Damn." He looked back at Dorian. "You took him in?"

"In a matter of speaking," Dorian said with a shrug of one shoulder. "He doesn't live with me or anything. I was able to track down some friends of his--a couple he'd known before who happened to be living here. They were thrilled to find out he was all right and painting again."

"So a happy ending?" Bull asked.

"We'll see," Dorian sighed before glancing at his watch. "Are you ready to bring everything in?"

"Yep," Bull responded. "Where do you want it?"

With a gesture to one corner, Dorian led him to a circular table draped in gray fabric. "Will this do?"

Bull looked it over, spanning the width with his arms and checking that it was sturdy. "Works for me. I'll bring the stands in first. I've got a few options, but I'm guessing you'll want the gold."

Dorian hummed in agreement. "Gold works well."

Letting his gaze wander over Dorian's jewelry and powder, he met the man's eyes just as a bit of that blush returned. "Gold works very well."

He half-expected Dorian to shake his head and get them back to business, but instead a small smirk curled his lips, and he peered up at Bull through half-lidded eyes. "It does, doesn't it?"

Enticed by the other man's response, Bull licked his lips and then huffed a laugh. "Shit. Don't distract me or I'll forget why I'm here." 

[ ](http://lonicera-caprifolium.tumblr.com/)

"Petit-fours," Dorian commanded. He pointed back toward the door with an imperious finger. "Go get them."

Bull snapped off a crisp salute. "You got it, big guy."

As he hustled away, he was almost sure he felt Dorian's eyes on his ass, and he couldn't help but grin. Outside the air had cooled with the setting sun, which was good because he probably shouldn't have left the cakes in the van as long as he had. He flipped open the top box, but thankfully they still looked perfect. Krem would have killed him if he'd fucked it up, and Bull didn't want to ruin an important night for Dorian. The guy clearly worked hard and loved what he did. That was as much of a turn-on as his flawless skin and fit frame.

Bull grabbed the three gold cake stands and felt a surge of gratification when Dorian saw them and smiled in delight. He took one and studied it, turning it around in his hands to appreciate the delicate curls that formed the tiered bases. 

"This is exquisite work," he said.

"A friend of mine made them for me," Bull told him as he set the other two stands on the table.

Dorian laughed. "Do you know everyone in the city?"

"I'm still working on the east side."

With a shake of his head, Dorian set the last stand gently on the table. "Is your friend an artist?"

"Nah, she's a welder. Construction mostly. She just does shit like this on the side."

"Well, if she ever branches out into sculpture, give her my card," Dorian said with a last lingering brush of his finger along the shaped metal.

They spent ten minutes arranging the stands just so. Mostly Bull stood back and watched with a smile as Dorian fussed and moved them around and around. Eventually they sat in a rough triangle shape, and Bull pulled the tent tables with the bakery logo from his back pocket. He set one in the middle of the triangle, but then, after considering a moment, he shoved the others back in his pocket.

"One will do it," he said.

Dorian looked up at him. "Are you sure? You gave me a generous discount, and I want you to get your money's worth." 

"This is good," Bull assured him. "You've got a real nice flow going here, and I don't want to break it up too much."

The smile that earned him was fucking dazzling and worth every penny of any business they might lose. "Now the cakes?" Dorian asked.

"Now the cakes," Bull agreed, but he held up one finger. "That's my job. I get that this is an important thing you have going and that you want to fiddle until everything's just right, but petit-fours are fragile. You don't handle 'em right and they'll smoosh."

"Smoosh," Dorian repeated, crossing his arms over his chest. "Is that the proper culinary terminology?"

"Yep," Bull answered. "I took a whole class on avoiding the smoosh. So let the professional handle this."

After a skeptical glance at Bull's large fingers, Dorian shook his head and threw up his hands. "Fine. I'll be in my office in the back."

Just before he turned away, Bull took the chance to put his hand on the man's shoulder. Dorian frowned up at him, a question in his expression, but didn't pull away.

"It's going to be great," Bull told him.

With his hand on Dorian's arm, he could feel the long breath he let out. "Thank you," Dorian sighed. "I know I've been rather demanding, but I need the word of mouth this preview could generate if the public opening is to be a success."

"It will be," Bull assured him. "This place..." His eyes traveled over the art, the decor, the man himself. "Damn. This is good shit, Dorian."

When Dorian threw back his head and laughed, Bull could hear some of the tension leaving him, and he grinned.

"That's quite a compliment," Dorian said, still smiling. "Perhaps you should consider a side career as an art critic."

"I'm the one who has to rein in Krem's decorating," Bull reminded him. "I'm already an art critic."

Dorian sighed. "He hates me, doesn't he?"

"Who, Krem?" Bull waved a hand. "He hates anybody who wears something nicer than old band T-shirts. It's why we get along so well."

This time it was Dorian's gaze that traveled. His eyes gave Bull a thorough once-over, his lips still curved at the corners. "You're not completely hopeless," he noted.

"Yeah?" Bull grinned and flexed just enough to noticeably shift his biceps.

When Dorian met his eyes, a bit of pink had returned to his cheeks. "As I said, I'll be in the back. Let me know if you need anything."

Bull nodded. "Will do." 

His hand slipped off Dorian's shoulder as the man stepped away, and he flexed the fingers that had touched the smooth silk. Then he hurried outside to get the cake boxes and let the evening air cool the warmth from his skin.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click on the art! Click it! You won't be sorry! lonicera-caprifolium's art is a gorgeous dream.

After twenty minutes of careful arranging, Bull almost had the petit-fours just right. He and Krem had spent hours nailing down Dorian's requested shades of blue and green, and Bull had tweaked the formula for the fondant glaze to get it nearly pearlescent. Put in just the right pattern on the stands, the cakes carried over the theme of moving waves Dorian had going. When Bull stepped back to take in the overall effect, he grinned and pulled out his phone to send a picture to Krem. The whole thing looked fucking fantastic. Krem might have bitched, but Dorian knew his shit. Maybe they could sign him on to sketch out some designs or consult on color palettes. If that meant he had to come by the shop once in awhile... well, that was just a bonus.

Satisfied that he had everything set with enough precision to please even Dorian, Bull bent down to retrieve the empty boxes. That was the moment when he realized that someone was standing right behind him.

With a startled curse, he spun around, hand dropping to his hip by instinct, but he didn't have a weapon. The guy--the kid, couldn't be more than twenty--dropped his gaze to Bull's hand, then looked up at him again with a placid expression.

"Hello," he said.

"Shit," Bull swore. "You scared the crap out of me." He took a deep breath to quiet his racing heart and let his hand relax at his side. He couldn't remember the last time someone has successfully snuck up on him. "Sorry, kid. Gallery's closed tonight for a private function."

"Yes," the kid replied, his blue eyes still gazing at Bull. "Dorian told me to come."

As if Dorian was summoned by his name, Bull heard a door open and footsteps follow. "Cole?" he called out as he appeared from the back hallway. "Ah!" he said, a pleased smile on his face when he saw the kid. "I thought I heard your voice. Let me take a look at you."

He took the kid by the shoulders and turned him toward the light. "You got the clothes I sent, I see," he said, brushing invisible lint off the kid's blue shirt. His eyes went up to the unruly mop of blond hair that hung in the kid's eyes, and he frowned. "I thought you were going to get a haircut."

"I tried," the kid said. "It was too loud."

Dorian sighed. "You went to one of those places in a strip mall, didn't you? Next time I'll take you to my barber."

"Is it bad?" the kid asked, and his fingers clutched at the front of his shift, twisting the blue fabric.

With a gentle smile, Dorian reached out to lay a hand over the kid's and still his fingers. "You're all right. You're an artist. People expect a certain level of dishevelment." The kid let out a relieved breath and smiled back, and then Dorian glanced at Bull. "But I'm being terribly rude. Iron Bull, this is Cole, the artist. Cole, this is the Iron Bull."

[ ](http://lonicera-caprifolium.tumblr.com/)

Bull stripped his right hand of the disposable plastic glove he'd worn to place the petit-fours and extended it to Cole. "Nice to meet you. You've got real talent."

"Thank you," Cole said, placing his hand in Bull's. "You're very big."

Bull laughed, but Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Cole, do me a favor and try not to say _everything_ that comes into your mind tonight."

"Yes, Dorian," the kid said, releasing Bull's hand with a sheepish expression. "I'll try."

"Good," Dorian replied. "Now let's go around and practice your answers for the press a bit." He looped his arm through Cole's and started to turn away, but he suddenly stopped to look back at the cake table. With wide eyes, he moved closer, bending down to peer at the different levels of each stand.

"All right?" Bull asked as he pulled off his other glove.

"Bull," Dorian breathed in a voice that Bull could stand to hear every day for just about forever. And then he looked up, and his smile was even better. "It's exquisite."

"Good," Bull murmured back. He had to clear his throat before nodding to the empty boxes. "I'll just get these out of your way."

"Thank you." Dorian straightened and moved back to Cole's side. "I'll get a check to cover the remaining balance I owe you."

Gathering the boxes, Bull couldn't help but overhear Dorian coaching Cole. The kid fumbled and stuttered through explaining his painting process, but Dorian maintained a patient tone and helped steer him toward a subject he felt passionate about--his connection to his subjects and the worth they possessed. By the time Bull carried the boxes to the front hall, Dorian was smiling and nodding his encouragement. Bull couldn't help but smile along with him.

His smile faded as he walked out to his van. The streetlights were on now, but only about half of them were lit, and the pavement where he'd parked was pitted with potholes. Sirens and car alarms broke over the thumping bass from a truck nearby, and a drunk was pissing on the wall in the alley. Inside the gallery, Dorian had created a haven of refined beauty, and Bull respected him for settling here when he could have easily holed up in a more gentrified part of the city. He wasn't sure the reporters and bigwigs invited to the opening would feel the same.

When he got back inside, Cole stood in front of one of his paintings--a dark-haired dwarf with a Duster's mark and a fragile smile--mumbling to himself. Dorian wasn't in the main room, so Bull headed to the office in the back. The door was open, and Dorian sat at a wooden desk, old but solid, tapping away on an ancient desktop. One wall showed more of the exposed brick, painted a soft cream this time; the opposite wall held floor-to-ceiling bookshelves packed with explosively colorful art books. A window with its blinds drawn centered the back wall, and photos and posters from galleries all over the world surrounded it.

Dorian looked up when Bull entered, then smiled and rose to his feet. He picked up the check he'd written out and extended it to Bull. "I really can't thank you enough," he said. "I know I promised not to be onerous, but I'm not sure I delivered."

"Nah, you knew what you wanted, and you were right. They wouldn't have looked as good without your input." Bull smirked. "Don't tell Krem I said that though."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Dorian assured him.

Bull took the check from him, glancing down at the figures written there. Damn, even Dorian's handwriting was pretty. As he stood hesitating, he heard the floorboards creak beneath Dorian's shifting feet.

"Problem?" he asked, his voice falsely casual.

"Huh?" Bull looked up at him and felt like shit for the tense frown he saw, as if he was going to try to strongarm Dorian for more cash. "No. No, we're square." He shoved the check in his back pocket as he tried to figure out how to say what he was thinking. "I just thought... maybe I should stick around."

Dorian's frown shifted from wary to concerned. "You think something might go wrong with the petit-fours?"

"Nah, more like..." He huffed a breath. "It's not a great neighborhood..." he started.

A laugh escaped Dorian as he shook his head. "I appreciate the thought, but I can take care of myself. And Cole."

"I didn't mean that," Bull rushed to assure him. "More like... Let's say your VIPs show up and see some junkie puking outside. Maybe they start thinking Cole's art isn't as good as it is. But then they see that you've hired security--a qunari, no less--and in their minds, the value starts to go up again." 

Given his read on Dorian, Bull had a pretty good idea of what was going on behind those pretty eyes: more than enough smarts to see the sense in what Bull said, but also a healthy amount of pride and--unless Bull missed his guess--a fair bit of worry about the balance of his bank account.

So he wasn't surprised when Dorian came back with that. "I can't afford to pay you," he admitted.

Bull held up a hand. "I'm not looking for more cash."

Then he saw something he didn't expect. A momentary flash of fear and the floorboards creaking again as Dorian's weight shifted back, away from Bull. "Then what are you looking for?"

Bull had long since acclimated to the way people reacted to his size in the south, but damn if seeing that wariness on Dorian didn't make his stomach turn over. "Not a thing," he promised. "Really. Even if we never see each other after tonight, I'm still offering. I like you, and you've got a good thing going here. I want to help."

Dorian blinked, a little off guard, but the tension in his shoulders eased. "That's... very generous of you. Offering your time."

"I'm a giver," Bull said with a smile.

"Mmm... I'll bet," Dorian murmured, and when one side of his mouth curled up, Bull would have sworn somebody raised the thermostat a good ten degrees. "Thank you, Bull. I accept."

"Great." Bull gestured over his shoulder toward the door. "I'll go stand in a corner and look intimidating."

Dorian's gaze swept over him in a deliberate up and down before his smirk widened. "Think you can manage?"

"Yeah," Bull laughed. "I did some time as a bouncer. I know the drill." He turned to go but paused when he felt Dorian's hand on his arm.

"Thank you, Bull," Dorian said again, and that sweet look he'd had with Cole came back. "Truly."

"My pleasure," Bull told him, and he meant that phrase more than he ever had before.

He headed out to the gallery and took up a station in a corner removed from the cake table, just in case anybody saw the bakery logo and connected it with his horns. He crossed his arms over his chest, widened his stance to exactly shoulder width, and pasted on a blank expression. People were more wary of a guy who looked like he could start shit without even getting pissed off first. When Dorian came out of the office, he actually did a slight double take at the change in Bull before catching up with Cole. Maybe Bull was just being optimistic, but he thought he caught a hint of heat in that glance.

The new few hours passed in a blur. Bull stood unmoving and impassive, only occasionally breaking stance to ask someone to step back from a nearby painting with an upraised hand and a deep-voiced "ma'am" or "sir." A few of them visibly jumped on being addressed by a seven-foot qunari, and once Bull caught Dorian cast him a covert smirk, but he didn't respond, afraid he wouldn't be able to stop smiling once he started. His bum knee started to ache after the first hour, but he'd stood on it much longer and knew it would hold out. He entertained himself by watching Dorian flit around the room, obviously in his element talking fine culture with the elite. Dorian kept a careful eye on Cole as well, always knowing exactly when to swoop in and turn his audience's confused looks into approving nods. A handful of times, Bull could see Cole working up to a panic, but Dorian stepped in then too, soothing the kid with a hand on his back and murmured words of encouragement.

Even so, by the time the last patron left, the kid drooped with exhaustion. Dorian immediately pulled him into a firm hug, and Bull could hear him showering Cole with praise as he approached.

"He's right," Bull cut in. "You did great, kid."

"Thank you, the Iron Bull," Cole mumbled. Then he looked up at Dorian with those wide, sad eyes. "I'm tired."

Dorian nodded. "Of course. Do you have cab fare?"

"I like to walk," Cole responded. "I can see the stars."

Dorian's lips pressed into a thin line before he nodded. "All right. But tell Rhys to text me when you get home."

"I will." Then he offered Dorian a pale smile. "You always worry. Thank you."

"Yes, well," Dorian sniffed, "I've invested a lot in you. It wouldn't do to see that go to waste."

"It won't. Good night, the Iron Bull," Cole added before shuffling toward the door.

"Take care, kid." He and Dorian both watched him leave, and then Dorian blew out the tension of the night with a loud whoosh of breath.

"You did great too," Bull told him.

Dorian waved a hand in dismissal. "We'll see when the Sunday arts section comes out." He glanced back toward the cake table, which had been picked clean. Barely a crumb remained on the cake stands. "Can I help you to your van?"

Three cake stands were hardly a stretch for Bull to carry, but he wasn't about to turn down a few more minutes of Dorian's company. With two in his hands and one in Dorian's, they wandered out to the street in companionable silence. When they reached the van, Bull opened the back, tucked his cake stands inside, and then turned to grab Dorian's. He handed it over willingly enough, but something hesitant in his expression made Bull hold his gaze instead of turning to pack the stand away with the others.

"I can't thank you enough," Dorian finally said. "Your prediction was quite astute. More than one person commented on my wisdom in hiring security." A small smile stole over his lips. "Several people asked me about the bakery as well. You should have brought business cards for me to hand out."

"Nah," Bull said. "Tonight was your night. Yours and Cole's." He felt himself hesitate a little too but pushed on before he could overthink it. "I know I said I'd stay even if we never saw each other again--which I meant--but if you're up for it, maybe we could make another night about you and me."

To his relief, Dorian's lips twitched as his smile threatened to grow wider. "What did you have in mind?"

"I know a..." Bull began, but Dorian laughed and cut him off.

"You know a guy," he said. "Yes, I've heard. Rumor has it you know several."

"Smartass," Bull retorted, and he didn't think his grin could stretch anymore. "I was _going_ to say that I know a place."

"A place as well as a guy?" Dorian's hand went to his chest in mock surprise. "Next you'll tell me you know a thing and you'll have covered all the varieties of nouns."

"Are you going to let me finish?"

Dorian's hand left his chest, and he circled his wrist, gesturing for Bull to continue.

"Thank you," Bull laughed. "You ever heard of Varric Tethras?"

Dorian's eyebrows got that little crinkle between them that Bull was growing more and more fond of. "The sportswriter?"

Bull nodded. "He owns a bar on the south side. It's a dive, but they've got the best hot wings in the city."

Dorian hummed in thought. "You have a night in mind?"

"How about tomorrow?"

With a little huff, Dorian put on an air of affront. "You assume I don't already have plans?"

"If I guess right," Bull said, "your plans for tomorrow include pacing the floor and working yourself up into a knot over the reviews that will be in Sunday's paper."

After a moment, Dorian wilted, like the whole night had caught up to him at once. "So transparent, am I?"

Before he could stop himself, Bull had set the cake stand in the truck and turned back to put his hands on Dorian's arms. "Nah," he said softly. "But you put your heart and soul out there for people tonight, and you don't know yet whether they're going to see it for a treasure or trample it into the mud." One hand reached up and brushed a stray lock of Dorian's hair back. "I think you could use a little distance from that. Remind yourself that no matter what they say, you've got a hell of a lot to offer."

Dorian looked up at him with wide eyes and then swallowed hard. "You..." he began in a hoarse voice. "... are not what I expected from an erotic baker."

Bull laughed, then took a chance and bent down to place a peck on Dorian's cheek before stepping back. "Yeah, I get that a lot. So I'll pick you up tomorrow?"

Still looking a little dazed, Dorian shook his head. "No, I'll... I can meet you there. Eight o'clock?"

"Can we make it seven?" Bull asked. "I have to be up at four the next day to prepare for the Sunday brunch rush."

"Four o'clock _in the morning_?" The thought of such a time seemed to jog Dorian from his fog. "That's appalling." 

"That's life as a baker," Bull told him. "Even an erotic one."

With a final check of his gear, Bull slammed the back of the van closed. "See you tomorrow," he told Dorian. He walked up to driver's side, got in, and started it up. As he drove away, he glanced up at his rearview mirror. Dorian still stood on the sidewalk, watching him go, a slight smile on his face.

[](http://lonicera-caprifolium.tumblr.com/)   



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want more amazing Adoribull art? Click on the images to see lonicera-caprifolium's tumblr.

[ ](http://lonicera-caprifolium.tumblr.com/)

Normally when Bull made plans to meet someone, he showed up ten minutes early, but he let himself lag a bit before his date with Dorian. Dorian struck him as the chronically late type, probably because he seemed so careful with his appearance. He was pleasantly surprised when he showed up at Hanged Man at seven on the dot, and Dorian was already leaning against the wall beside the bar's front window. He smiled when he glanced up at Bull and then quickly finished whatever text conversation he'd been having on his phone.

Somehow every time Bull saw him, Dorian looked hotter than the time before. He had dressed down from the gallery, just a single gold chain and another tight T-shirt, but this one was a deep blue that made his eyes seem almost silver by comparison. Those eyes looked Bull over as well, took in his pink button-down and gray slacks--Bull's only other decent pair of pants--and his smile spread to crinkle the corners of his eyes.

"You look nice," he told Bull.

"I manage to clean up good once in awhile." After the success of the night before, Bull took the initiative to drop another kiss on Dorian's cheek. "You look gorgeous," he murmured in his ear.

A hint of the blush he liked so much appeared on Dorian's cheeks, but he lifted his chin as he gestured toward the door. "Shall we?"

"After you," Bull said, taking hold of the handle and tugging it open in a move that was mostly politeness but partly a chance to confirm that Dorian's dark jeans did amazing things to his ass. As they stepped inside, he wasn't surprised to hear a welcoming shout from Varric. What did surprise him was the name that feel from the dwarf's lips.

"Sparkler!" Varric said, hopping down from his stool and leaving behind a sheaf of loose papers and a half-empty pint glass at the bar. "Shit, I haven't seen you for an age." To Bull's continuing surprise, Varric's usually jovial smile slipped to concern as he shook Dorian's hand. "Everything good?"

"Yes, fine," Dorian assured him. "More than fine actually. I've been busy with an opening."

"A highly successful opening," Bull added, coming up behind Dorian and placing a hand on his shoulder.

Dorian grimaced up at him. "That remains to be seen." 

From the corner of his eye, Bull could see Varric looking back and forth between them and the wide grin that spread over the dwarf's face. "And Tiny. I didn't know you two knew each other."

"I know the feeling," Bull said with an eyebrow raised at Dorian. The other man just shot him a quick smirk, more than a little smug.

"Well, damn," Varric said, "don't just stand in the doorway blocking customers." He nodded toward the back of the bar. "You two can have my booth for the night."

They followed him past the other high wooden booths decorated with sports memorabilia, autographed photos, and magazine clippings to a booth in the far corner adorned exclusively with photos from several years of the Kirkwall Champions rugby team. Dorian slid onto the bench on one side, Bull took the side opposite, and Varric rapped his knuckles on the tabletop.

"So how's the professor?" Varric asked, which Bull assumed was directed at Dorian. "How long until he blows town?"

Dorian's smirk slipped away. "Six weeks."

"Shit, that soon?" Varric shook his head. "Well, tell him I'm throwing him a going away party. He can put aside grading papers for one night."

"I'll tell him," Dorian promised.

Varric nodded. "I'll send Nora over with some beers," he said. "First round's on the house."

"Thank you, Varric," Dorian said while Bull nodded his gratitude. As Varric walked away, Bull fixed Dorian with a narrow look.

"You know Varric," Bull accused.

"I do," Dorian replied. His smile returned as he leaned forward with his forearms on the table. "Just verifying that I'm not a completely open book to you."

"You definitely got that one past me," Bull said. "If you've been here before, we could go somewhere else."

"I like it here," Dorian assured him. "After the week I've had, there's comfort in familiarity. And Varric's right. It's been far too long."

"Was he talking about the friend who sent you to my place?" Bull asked. "He's leaving town?"

"Unfortunately," Dorian sighed. "He was only here as a visiting professor. Once his visa expires, he'll be going back to Tevinter."

A vague feeling washed over Bull, waiting to coalesce into disappointment in his chest. "What about you?"

"I'll be staying," Dorian said. His finger traced through a ring of condensation on the table, and his eyes watched as it broke the watery circle. "I don't have much to go back to."

"I know that feeling too," Bull replied.

The words lifted Dorian's gaze, and his lips parted to speak. But then his eyes caught over Bull's shoulder, and he closed his mouth again. A moment later Nora appeared, clanking down two glasses in front of them.

"Two beers courtesy of Master Tethras," she announced. Then she put her hands on the dips of her waist. "What else can I get you?"

"Whaddaya say, 'Vint?" Bull asked Dorian, stretching out one arm along the top of the booth. "Should we show these southerners how much spice we can handle up north?"

"The hotter the better," Dorian agreed with a smile.

"Two orders of the Highland Ravagers wings, Nora," Bull said.

"All right, boys," she laughed. "Just don't come crying to me when your tongues catch fire." Then she left the table with a wink for Bull and a sway in her hips.

Dorian watched her go, a smirk twitching up one side of his lips. "I may know Varric," he said in a teasing voice, "but _you_ know Nora."

"Heh," Bull huffed. "Just the one time. More than a year ago now." He looked up to meet Dorian's eyes. "That's okay with you, right? That I'm pan?"

Dorian leaned back against the booth but left his hands stretched on the table. "It is as long as I have your focus when you're with me."

"Not a problem," Bull murmured. "You've had my focus since we met."

One of Dorian's eyebrows lifted, but he smiled. "A whole ten days? I'm flattered."

Bull reached across the table to lay his fingers over the back of Dorian's hand. "I think you can top it."

As he expected, Dorian looked away as pink tinged his cheeks again. He used his free hand to raise his beer to his lips, then nodded toward the photos on the wall. "Have you read it?" he asked.

"What? _Tale of the Champions_?" He snorted. "Yeah. I'll never forget when they beat the Dreadnaughts. Everyone lost it. Completely grief-stricken. If you didn't know it was about rugby, you would have thought Hawke killed the Arishok."

"So you..." Dorian met his eyes again, but he hesitated before speaking. "You're Tal-Vashoth then?" The slight emphasis he placed on the first part of the word made it clear he understood the distinction.

"Yeah," Bull answered, though even now his instinct was to deny it, to disbelieve. "Five years."

Dorian's fingers turned over to curl around Bull's grip. "I'm sorry."

Bull shrugged, but he squeezed Dorian's hand back as he picked up his glass and took a long swallow of beer. "So..." he started, eager to change the subject. "You play?"

"Rugby?" Dorian shook his head. "No. You?"

"Every kid plays in Par Vollen," Bull told him. "They weed out the best kids, send them to special schools for elite training."

"Was that you?" Dorian asked.

"Nah, but I still enjoy the game. That's how I met Varric actually. He sponsors our rec league team. Bull's Chargers."

"That's an awful name," Dorian laughed. "Nearly as bad as Muffin Tops."

"Shit," Bull said, shaking his head. "And I thought you had good taste. You're blowin' it here, 'Vint."

"Not yet," Dorian purred, and when Bull's eyes traveled to his mouth, he took a bit of his lower lip between his teeth. For the first time in he couldn't remember how long, Bull felt a touch of heat in his face, and Dorian crowed in delight. "Are you blushing? You're blushing!"

"Just the beer," Bull said, but he was grinning like an idiot, and his fingers tightened around Dorian's again.

The sultry look Dorian shot him went straight to his groin, but then the other man stiffened (and not in a good way). Bull heard footsteps and as Nora approached the table with their wings, Dorian flinched back, almost pulling his hand away from Bull's, before grasping it again. His brow furrowed in a determined expression, but his smile to Nora pinched tight when she told them to enjoy their food.

Once she was out of earshot, Bull leaned across the table. "You all right?" he murmured.

"Yes, fine," Dorian breezed. He did pull his hand out of Bull's then, but only so he could grab a napkin from the table's holder and spread it across his lap. "This smells wonderful," he noted as he picked up one wing.

"Best in the city," Bull reminded him. He didn't know what had spooked Dorian, but if the other man could pay him the courtesy of changing the subject from the Qun, he could do the same.

Grabbing a wing of his own, Bull bit through the crunchy exterior dripping with sauce. Heat burst through his mouth, making his tongue and teeth tingle. He swallowed it down, grinning as he felt his own breath sear his throat. Across the table, Dorian's face had flushed bright pink and tears had gathered in his eyes, but he was grinning as well.

"Damn, that's good," Bull said.

Dorian's answering chuckle turned into a cough that he had to stifle with a long swig of beer. "Maker," he said, "it's been too long since I ate anything with decent heat."

"I'll make you chili sometime," Bull promised. "Blow your head right off."

"Sounds dangerous," Dorian laughed. He continued to dig into his food with an enthusiasm Bull appreciated, not too dainty or precious about making a mess. He pulled more napkins from the holder than Bull, but he didn't hesitate to lick stray sauce from his fingers--a sight Bull enjoyed almost more than his own food.

When only a few wings remained in his basket, Dorian sat back with a contented sigh and grabbed his beer. "Delicious, but I think I'd better pace myself." He smiled at Bull as he raised his glass to his lips. "So you can cook as well as bake. Where did you learn?"

Bull nodded as he swallowed a bite of chicken. "Prison."

The beer Dorian had sipped came right back out as he spluttered over the rim of his glass. Bull quickly grabbed a few more napkins and handed them across the table. "Shit, sorry," he said. "I should probably lead up to that."

"No, it's... it's fine," Dorian replied as he used the napkins to wipe his mouth and mop the table. After he finished, he glanced at Bull. "Is it rude to ask...?"

"What I was in for?" Bull shook his head. "Nah, it's fine." He balled up the napkin he'd had in his hand and tossed it onto the tabletop. "Hearing the story will answer the other question most people ask," he said, pointing at his eyepatch, "and it explains how I met Krem."

"Sounds like quite an event."

Bull shrugged. "Not really. I was in a shitty bar--not this one--and I overheard this group of guys harassing this other guy. At first I thought it was because he was Tevinter, but then I realized they were giving a him hard time for being trans. When it got violent, I stepped in. We all wound up in the hospital, but only the 'Vint and the ox-man were charged with assault." He shrugged again. "Go figure, right?"

"That's terrible," Dorian said.

"In the grand scheme of assholes getting away with that shit? Yeah." Bull picked up his own beer and took a drink. "For me personally, it was the best thing that could have happened."

Dorian frowned. "How so?"

"I was kind of a mess," Bull admitted. "Hadn't been in the south long, didn't know what to do with myself. Inside, Krem and I hooked up with some other inmates, ragtag but not violent." He snorted. "Well, except for Skinner. Point is we ended up almost as another set of guards. Broke up fights, that kind of thing. The warden was a bitch--even tried to deport Krem and me--but her lieutenant appreciated the help. Offered us places in a rehabilitation program. Jobs training, naturalization, literacy, that kind of shit. Grim went into accounting, Dalish and Rocky did welding--though Rocky does demolition now--and Krem and I..."

"Took up cake decorating?" Dorian asked, his lips curling back into a smile.

Bull laughed. "Yep. We were assholes. Thought it would be funny. As it turned out, we were talented assholes. When Krem moved onto advanced training, I switched over to business management. By the time we got out, we were set to start our own place."

"That couldn't have been easy for two ex-convicts," Dorian noted.

"We sold out of the van until we had enough cash and reputation to convince a landlord," Bull explained. "Been there ever since."

Dorian shook his head, but his smile remained. "That's remarkable."

"Kind of unbelievable too." Reaching into his back pocket, Bull pulled out his phone and typed in a search. When he found what he wanted, he extended his phone to Dorian. "I'm going to hit the john. While I'm gone, you can read some of the stories about it. When word got out what started the fight, some LGBT groups started protesting, and it ended up on a few news sites." Which Krem had hated. "This way you can get corroboration."

Dorian held up his hand. "That's not necessary."

"Me taking a leak is." Bull smirked as he slipped out of the booth. When Dorian still didn't take the phone, he set it down on the table. "It would make me feel better--knowing that you _know_ I told you the truth. I don't want you to have any doubts about me, Dorian." He didn't wait to see if Dorian picked it up; he just made his way to the bathroom in the back.

When he returned to the booth, his phone was back at his place, but the screen didn't show the website he'd put it on. Instead it displayed an archived article from a sports site with the headline "Tevinter Sex Scandal."

Bull glanced at Dorian, who was pretending to study the Champions photos again. "Dorian..." he started.

"No, it's fine." The other man sighed but turned back to meet his gaze. "As you said, I'd rather know you know and not wonder when you're going to discover it." He took his glass back in his hands but only rolled it between them without taking a sip. "I never played rugby, but I did excel in competitive fencing. I was trained from a very early age. My father wanted an elite athlete, and fencing was quite de rigueur among the Tevinter upper class at the time. That's how I met Varric. He covered a tournament I won in the Free Marches and kept tabs on me after that."

"You were good?" Bull asked, covering the screen of his phone with his hand.

Even so, Dorian's eyes were drawn to it. "Very good. Until..." He nodded toward the phone and looked away again.

Bull shifted his fingers and scanned the subhead: "Top-ranked amateur banned from competition in homeland." The first paragraph described how Dorian Pavus had been caught in a compromising position with another man.

"Was he a judge or something?" Bull asked.

"No," Dorian sighed. When he looked back at Bull, his lips were drawn straight in a grim expression. "He was merely a he."

"Vashedan," Bull hissed. "So Tevinter really is as fucked-up about this shit as they say."

"Unfortunately. As you said about the Champions, from the way my father carried on, you would have thought someone died. It ruined his plan for me, you see." Dorian raised his hand and started counting off on his fingers. "Elite athlete, top lawyer, politics. In time, the fencing scandal faded, and I eventually convinced him that an advanced degree in art history could get me a prestigious position at an auction house--which it did--but the rest of it..."

"Not interested in politics?" Bull asked.

"Not interested in women," Dorian replied. "A male politician does not rise high in the Magisterium without a doting wife at his side, no matter how much they might loathe each other in private. When my shouting matches with my father began to include mentions of a conversion therapist, I left. Varric was actually the one who arranged the paperwork. Felix left his home university for a fellowship so I wouldn't be alone."

"Damn, Dorian." Bull shook his head. "That's..."

"Yes," Dorian agreed. "It was." He let out another sigh and then put on a smile that seemed only a little forced. "But things are different now. _I'm_ different. All in all, I'm quite content with how my life turned out, though I will miss Felix terribly when he leaves."

Bull stretched his hand back across the table, and after everything he'd just heard, gratification and pride pulsed warm in his chest when Dorian reached back and laced their fingers together. 

[ ](http://lonicera-caprifolium.tumblr.com/)

"Everything good here?" 

They both turned to Varric as he appeared beside their table. The dwarf's eyes flicked down to their joined hands, and he grinned. "Guess so." Then he laughed. "Shit, Sparkler, he must really like you. I don't think I've ever seen Tiny leaves wings in a basket."

"I am duly honored," Dorian said with a smile.

"You sure about this guy, though?" Varric asked with a nod to Bull. "He can't tackle for shit."

"That hurts, Varric," Bull said. "That's hurtful."

Varric laughed again. "I'll get you a couple of to-go boxes."

"The check too," Bull said, after glancing at Dorian and getting a nod.

Varric held up one hand. "Call me a romantic, but this one's on me."

"Varric, you don't have to..." Dorian started, but Varric only shook his head and walked away.

"But you owe me a scoop, Sparkler," he called back over his shoulder.

At Bull's raised eyebrow, Dorian huffed a laugh. "He wants to do one of those 'where are they now?' stories about my success with the gallery. He even offered to send my father several hundred copies."

Bull grinned. "I like it."

Dorian rolled his eyes. "Of course, you do." He nodded his thanks to Nora as she left two boxes on the table and only released Bull's hand to pack up their leftovers. They left the booth and walked outside, and once they were back out on the sidewalk, Bull reclaimed both his box and Dorian's hand.

Dorian looked up at him, eyes catching the light from the streetlamp above them. "You have an early morning," he said.

"Yep," Bull replied. "But I also know a great little bakery with kick-ass desserts."

Dorian's lips twitched back toward a smile. "Are they even open this late?"

"I think I can talk the owner into letting us in." Bull squeezed the hand in his. "Interested?"

"Very." Dorian glanced back down the street. "I took the subway."

"Great," Bull said. "Then I can give you a ride in my van. Smells way better than the subway."

Dorian laughed and shook his head but let Bull lead him by the hand down to where he'd parked.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went to copy and paste this from Google docs, and all that showed up at first was "on Bull's dick." Yeah, it's that kind of chapter.
> 
> Now featuring more delicious art by lonicera-caprifolium! Click that image for more amazing Adoribull art (and click the link for the NSFW second picture).

After a leisurely, star-filled drive listening to cheesy pop music (which Dorian scoffed at, but more than once, Bull caught him humming along), they arrived at the alley behind Muffin Tops. As they walked up to the street, Bull watched Dorian from the corner of his eye and couldn’t help but grin at the small smile on the other man’s face. The night was a perfect mix of the freshness of spring with a hint of summer heat to come. Light and conversation spilled out from the cafe on the corner, but the sidewalk in front of the closed-up bakery was quiet, like they had their own little bubble of peace.

“So…” Bull started as he pulled out his keys. “The way I see it, we have two options.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow, and the tilt matched the sweet curve of his lips. “Oh, yes?”

“Yep. Door number one,” Bull said, gesturing to the bakery entrance, “where we have killer eclairs and maybe even a bottle of Tevene wine that I will overpay Krem for later.”

“Or?” Dorian prompted.

“Or door number two.” As Bull moved past Dorian, he let his fingertips brush the other man’s elbow. When he reached the red door a few steps away that led up to his apartment, he tapped on it with his keys. “My place, where I have some leftover whipped cream stashed in the fridge. We’d have to get creative about what we put it on, though.”

Dorian crossed his arms over his chest, but he lifted his chin to look up at Bull through half-lidded eyes. “How creative?”

“Pretty creative,” Bull replied. He sauntered forward to close the distance between them, then lifted one hand to cup Dorian’s jaw. “Up to you,” he murmured, brushing his thumb along the smooth skin of Dorian’s cheek.

A hint of a shiver trembled between them as Dorian lifted his fingers to curl around Bull’s wrist. “I say door number two.”

“You sure?” Bull asked.

Dorian’s other hand came up to rest against Bull’s chest, and this time Bull’s muscles twitched in a shudder. With only the thin fabric of his shirt separating their skin, his breath caught, as if Dorian held the air in his grasp.

“I’m sure,” Dorian replied.

Bull’s lips parted, and the stutter of his lungs pressed against Dorian’s warm palm. “I don’t mind if you just want to…”

“Vishante kaffas.” Dorian cut him off with a roll of his eyes and the quick shifting of his hands to the back of Bull’s neck. He tugged down as he went up on his toes, guiding their lips together. He didn’t hesitate to dart his tongue inside Bull’s open mouth, and Bull groaned at the feel of it against his teeth, at the tickle of the mustache against his skin, at the hot breath shared between them. He grabbed Dorian by the waist, hauling him close, holding him up. They clutched at each other, fingers digging into flesh, movements frantic, as if they were separated lovers reuniting instead of tasting each other for the first time.

Dorian pulled away, breath hard and ragged, almost tipping backward as he dropped to his heels. “I’m sure,” he panted.

“Yeah,” Bull agreed with a fervent nod.

Several fumbling attempts to unlock his door later, they were stumbling up the staircase to his apartment, hand in hand. When they reached the top, Bull dropped his keys to the floor and lifted Dorian onto the counter that separated his small kitchen from the larger living area. He buried his mouth in Dorian’s neck and his hands beneath the hem of his shirt in search of warm skin. Dorian tipped his head back and moaned, soft and sweet. He raised his arms, and Bull obeyed the unspoken command to peel his shirt up his chest. As it slipped over Dorian’s head, the fabric snagged on one of Bull’s horns, and they parted for a moment, laughing, as Dorian untangled it.

With a grin, Bull leaned his hands on the countertop, his arms framing Dorian, their foreheads touching. “So this is my place,” he said.

[ ](http://lonicera-caprifolium.tumblr.com/)

Dorian lifted his head to glance toward the living room, the windows looking down on the street, the beat-up couch, the decent-size TV with multiple game consoles hooked up. The walls were the bare-white of rented places everywhere, but the hardwood floor had warmth to it.

“Not a bad space,” Dorian declared, “though the decor is a bit spartan.”

“Krem had some stuff on the walls, but he took it all with him when he moved in with his girl.”

Turning his head, Dorian looked over the kitchen on the other side of the counter. Bull watched his eyes slide to the refrigerator and the smirk steal across his lips. When he shifted forward, Bull stepped back to let him hop down to the floor. He prowled over to the fridge and flicked it open with a tug on the handle.

“Whipped cream, you said?” He bent at the waist, flaunting his ass as he peered at the shelves inside. “I find I’m in the mood for something sweet.”

“Yep.” Bull walked over and gave that ass the swat it was begging for. “Look for a bowl, not a can. I made it fresh today.”

When Dorian straightened, he had the glass bowl cradled in the crook of his arm. He peeled back the plastic wrap on top and dug out a scoop with one finger. As he sucked it into his mouth, he closed his eyes and let out an obscene little growl.

“Maker, if we keep seeing each other, I’m going to gain a hundred pounds.”

“You’d still be hot as fuck,” Bull said. He reached out to take the bowl, but Dorian danced away, shuffling back down the narrow hallway on quick feet.

“You’ll have to move faster than that,” he taunted as he led the way to the door at the end of the hall. He opened it, peeked in, and smiled when he confirmed he’d found the bedroom. “Fencing, you know,” he tossed back over his shoulder.

Grinning, Bull lowered his shoulder and charged. Dorian squawked and ran for the bed, but Bull caught him at the edge and tackled him facefirst into the mattress, only barely catching the bowl with an outstretched hand. He spread his weight over Dorian, leaning down to suck hard at the skin beneath his ear.

“Rugby, you know,” he said.

Beneath him, he could feel the taut muscles of Dorian’s back tensing and flexing with each breath. “You great lummox,” he panted. “You weigh a ton.”

Bull shifted, just a little, just enough to line up his groin with Dorian’s ass. Then he rocked with a slow roll of his hips, and Dorian let out another quiet moan.

“You like it,” Bull said.

Dorian nodded, turning his head to the side until Bull could see him biting down on his lower lip. When he rocked back, Bull felt it like lightning shooting up his spine.

“Fuck,” he groaned.

“Maybe next time,” Dorian said. He put his hands beneath him and heaved upward, and Bull let himself be rolled onto the mattress. As soon as he was on his back, Dorian straddled his hips and began unbuttoning his shirt. “For now, I believe I was promised dessert.”

“Works for me,” Bull said.

He reached his arm out to set the bowl of whipped cream on the nightstand, then lay back to let Dorian finish with his shirt. Deft fingers made quick work of it and then parted the fabric to expose an expanse of gray skin. Dorian’s lips parted as his hands mapped the plains of Bull’s stomach up to his chest and then out to his shoulders.

“You’re magnificent,” he murmured.

Bull smiled. “I try.”

When he leaned up, Dorian shifted back to let him sit, but as soon as he’d stripped the shirt off his arms, Dorian pressed him back down, reforging his hands’ path with lips and teeth and tongue. Bull placed a gentle hand on the back of his head, encouraging with soft fingers in Dorian’s hair, hushed moans and stuttered breaths.

When he reached the waistband of Bull’s pants, Dorian slid lower. He climbed back off the bed and knelt to tug off Bull’s shoes. The thump of them hitting the floor snapped through Bull’s lustful haze and he sat up, reaching out his hand. But Dorian had already slipped a finger through the lower strap of Bull’s knee brace.

He smiled up at Bull. “Another bar brawl? Or was this one rugby related?”

A chill weight settled in Bull’s gut. He considered lying, deflecting, hauling Dorian up and lavishing attention on every inch of dark, glowing skin until Dorian forgot what he had seen. That’s what Bull did with the partners he brought to his bed, with the quick fucks and the one-night stands. There was no point explaining the truth behind his scars to someone he’d never see again.

He looked down at Dorian, at the warm gray eyes and the sweet smile that was already starting to fade.

“IED,” Bull said softly. “Seheron.”

The last remnant of Dorian’s smile vanished as his eyes went wide.

“I should have said,” Bull went on. “Most people down here barely know there’s a war on, but you…”

He trailed off, and a moment of silence passed before Dorian finished.

“I’m from Tevinter.”

All the air left Bull in a rush. He dragged one hand down his face and let his shoulders slump and his eyes drop to the floor. “If you need to…” But he couldn’t bring himself to say the words that would prompt Dorian to rise, to dress, to walk out and maybe never return.

He heard Dorian shift and braced for the footsteps that would follow, but instead Dorian began to tug and unlatch the buckles of Bull’s brace. Bull raised his head to look at him, but Dorian kept his eyes fixed on his task.

“To be honest,” Dorian began, “even at home, _I_ was barely aware there was a war on, sheltered as I was. On the rare occasion I did consider it, I mostly thought it seemed a pointless waste of life, on both sides. But it was easy enough to think that from the safety of the mainland.”

As the last strap came loose, he tugged the brace free from Bull’s leg, set it aside, and then finally looked up to meet Bull’s eyes. The crease between his eyebrows had returned, and Bull wanted nothing more than to lift his hand and smooth it away.

“I was in the thick of it,” he said, “and I thought the exact same thing.”

Dorian opened his mouth, took a breath as if to speak, then closed it again, frowning. He crept forward until he knelt between Bull’s legs and reached up to hold Bull’s face in his hands. With gentle pressure, he coaxed Bull to tilt his head so he could lay a kiss against Bull’s lips, chaste and tender. 

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” he said, still leaning close.

“I walked away on my own two legs,” Bull reminded them both. “That’s more than a lot of people can say.” He buried his nose in Dorian’s hair, savoring the clean scent that bore no trace of smoke.

After a long moment, a wry chuckle escaped him. “Well, shit. That’s one sure way to fucking spoil a mood.”

“Nonsense,” Dorian declared. “I was promised dessert, and I intend to have it.”

He pushed to his feet and made a shooing gesture at Bull before he bent to remove his own shoes. Bull wriggled his way up the bed, tucking his hands behind his head as he lay back among the pillows. When Dorian was down to just his jeans, he removed Bull’s socks and then reached up to unbuckle his pants. Bull lifted his hips, and Dorian pulled down Bull’s pants and boxers with a flourish. He tossed them to the floor and then turned to face Bull with his hands on his hips and a saucy smirk on his face.

Bull grinned as the smirk dissolved into an open-mouthed stare of rapt focus centered on his dick. “See something you like?” he asked.

Dorian’s pale pink tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Yes,” he breathed. “I’ll have one of those please.”

“All yours,” Bull replied.

He reached down to palm himself back to hardness, but Dorian swatted his hand away as he climbed onto the bed. “All mine,” he insisted.

“Bossy,” Bull noted, but the word ended on a groan as Dorian took him in a firm grip.

“As you said, I know what I want.”

Any response--and the ability to form words in general--frolicked away as dextrous fingers danced across his skin. Dorian ducked his head, and his mouth resumed its previous mapping of Bull’s chest. He lapped at one nipple with the same rhythm as his hand, and any thought of the shit they’d seen in their pasts hightailed it to some remote place beyond these four walls.

Dorian didn’t stop until Bull was panting and clutching the sheets in tight fingers, and even then, he only glanced up and asked, “Do you have any…?”

“Condoms?” Bull panted. “Top drawer.” He shivered as Dorian pulled away, and his restless legs shifted as he sought the return of friction. “The ones in the blue box are flavored.”

Dorian laughed. “Of course, they are.” He dug around in the drawer a moment longer, then pulled out a bright-pink package.

“Strawberry,” Bull noted. “A classic.”

“Seems fitting,” Dorian said with a nod to the whipped cream as he ripped the package open. “Though I’m not sure ‘shortcake’ is anywhere near an apt description for you.”

A breathless chuckle escaped Bull as Dorian rolled on the condom. When he snatched up the bowl and smeared a fingerful of whipped cream on the tip, Bull let out a full-throated groan. His body heat melted the cream, and little drips rolled down his shaft. Dorian tsked in disapproval, then bent down to lick them away.

[Click for some NSFW art-y goodness by lonicera-caprifolium!](http://sta.sh/01hudg53pekg)

Curses began to slide from Bull’s lips as Dorian applied to Bull’s dick the same single-minded fastidiousness he’d devoted to the petit-fours. He painted swirls of cream up and around every inch of the shaft and then mouthed them away when they didn’t meet his satisfaction. By the time Dorian placed the bowl back on the nightstand, Bull’s chest heaved with the effort to stay back from the edge of orgasm.

Then Dorian bent his head, opened his mouth wide, and swallowed Bull whole.

Bull shouted something--he wasn’t sure what, a curse, a prayer, Dorian’s name. Dorian couldn’t take all of him in, but he got damn close and his hands made up the difference. His head bobbed in sure rhythm, and Bull felt the sheets tear in his grip.

“Fuck,” he panted. “ _Fuck._ Dorian… you’re so fucking good. That’s it. That’s so good. Shit. I’m gonna…”

Without breaking his rhythm, Dorian lifted one hand to give Bull the exact same “go ahead” gesture he’d used during their conversation after the gallery, and Bull came hard with a laugh on his lips.

Dorian kept at it until Bull sank, boneless and covered in sweat, into the mattress. Then he sat back, using the pad of his thumb to collect a bit of saliva and whipped cream from the corner of his mouth and sucking it between his lips. When Bull reached out to him, Dorian let him pull him up to rest sprawled out, skin to skin, with his head on Bull’s shoulder.

“Fuck,” Bull breathed again, and Dorian laughed.

But beneath that laugh, Bull could hear the hitch in Dorian’s breathing. He could feel the way Dorian’s hips twitched restlessly, the way he shivered whenever Bull’s fingers grazed his side. Bull rolled to his side so they were face to face and then reached down to cup Dorian, still tucked away in his jeans.

Dorian whimpered, eyes drifting shut. Bull nudged him onto his back and stroked him through the denim. When frantic fingers tugged and tore at the fly, Bull laughed and let Dorian strip himself of the last bits of his clothing.

Then Bull could finally see all of him, every inch of perfect skin, every dip and rise of lean muscle. When he scratched his fingertips through the dark hair at the base of Dorian’s cock, the other man groaned.

“I’ll be right back,” Bull whispered. He hurried out to the bathroom, ditched the condom, and gave himself a cursory wipe with a wet cloth. When he got back to the bedroom, Dorian sprawled across the mattress, laid out like a feast, stroking himself with a languid hand.

Bull jumped back onto the bed, sending them both bouncing and the frame creaking, and nudged Dorian’s hand away to take over. He leaned across the mattress to paw through the nightstand drawer without letting his other hand leave Dorian. He snatched up a condom in a green wrapper and tore it open with his free hand and his teeth. When he settled back to roll it on, Dorian smiled up at him.

“Apple?” he asked.

“Key lime pie,” Bull answered as he coaxed the condom down Dorian’s shaft.

Dorian gasped a laugh. “Any good?”

Bull shrugged as he resumed his caresses. “A little too sweet.” He grinned down at Dorian’s half-lidded, blissful gaze. “Maybe I should give them my recipe.”

“Ha!” Dorian panted. “Condom consultant. Now there’s a career.” 

“One I’d be damn good at,” Bull noted.

When he sat up to grab the bowl of whipped cream, Dorian whimpered again. “I got you,” Bull murmured.

He turned back, the still-half-full bowl poised over Dorian’s stomach, a wicked smirk on his lips. Dorian’s eyes widened, and his lips parted on Bull’s name, but the word rose to a yelp as Bull upended the cold cream all over Dorian’s torso. Dorian cringed up at the cold, then lay back in the bed with a sigh, running his fingers through the melting mess.

“Well, if your intent was to ruin the bedding, I think you succeeded,” he said.

“Too late,” Bull said, and he caught Dorian’s eye before poking a finger through the tears in the sheets.

Dorian blinked in surprise and then huffed a laugh. “Have at it then,” he murmured, gesturing with sticky fingers to his sugar-smeared skin.

“That’s the plan,” Bull replied.

He started with those fingers, taking them into his mouth and sucking them down to the knuckle. Dorian hissed, his hips thrusting up into empty air. When his fingers were clean of every drop, Bull bent his head to lick long stripes up Dorian’s muscular abdomen. The warm, spicy musk of Dorian’s skin cut through the sweetness of the cream, and the way the taut muscles flexed beneath his mouth made his breath catch and his cock twitch. By the time he teased the tip of his tongue through one gold nipple ring, a nonstop stream of pleas and moans poured from Dorian’s lips.

“Please, Bull,” he begged. “Oh, Maker, please.”

Taking pity, Bull rearranged himself over Dorian’s groin and swallowed him all the way down. Dorian cried out, a wordless, broken shout, and then writhed beneath Bull’s ministrations. Bull restrained him with one gentle hand on his hip and then began to work in earnest. He varied his rhythm and suction, slow and soft when he felt Dorian tremble, then sucking him down hard when he started to relax. Dorian keened and moaned, and his hands roamed everywhere, wandering from clawing the sheets to pulling at his own hair to pawing at the crown of Bull’s head. Well-honed instincts warned Bull whenever Dorian’s fingers strayed near his horns, and he lifted his head to nod at the other man.

“You can grab them,” he said.

Dorian gazed back at him, flushed and panting. “You’re sure?”

Bull grinned and went back to his rhythm, but heat flared in his gut when Dorian gripped his horns in strong hands. He didn’t try to steer Bull, just held on for dear life, and within moments, his spine arched off the mattress, his dick pulsing against Bull’s tongue through the thin latex of the condom.

When the grasp on his horns loosened, Bull climbed up the bed to place a wet smack on Dorian’s cheek. Dorian chuckled, a soft, sweet little sound, and his fingers traced fluttering patterns over Bull’s tricep. But after too short a time, he rolled away, slipping off the mattress and padding to the bathroom down the hall.

Bull took the opportunity to get a new sheet and mattress pad from the closet, and by the time Dorian returned, he lounged in a clean, dry bed. He stretched one arm across the pillows in invitation, but Dorian ignored it in favor of gathering up his clothes.

“I should go,” he said, and Bull frowned.

“Why?”

Dorian’s hurried movements stuttered to a stop, and he glanced at Bull, half-bent to retrieve his sock. “Pardon?”

Bull sat up in the bed. “Why should you go? I mean,” he continued, scratching at the base of one horn, “if you _want_ to go, that’s one thing. I can give you a ride. But if we’re talking ‘should,’ I can think of a few reasons you should stay.”

With a furrowed brow, Dorian slowly straightened, his sock forgotten on the floor. “You have to be up in…” He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “... five hours.”

Bull shrugged. “Doesn’t mean you have to. I can be quiet.”

The stubborn crease lingered between Dorian’s eyebrows. “You’d… let me stay in your apartment? Alone?”

“You planning to steal something?” Bull asked with a smile.

Dorian snorted, and the smallest hint of a twitch curled one corner of his lips. “There’s nothing to steal.”

“Exactly,” Bull agreed. “So you can sleep in, take a shower, and when you get hungry, come down to the bakery. I’ll save you a muffin.”

When Dorian hesitated a moment longer, Bull wriggled down into the bed, curling the fingers of his outstretched hand in a beckoning gesture. Dorian snorted again, but his lips curved into more than a hinted smile. He crossed the open space to the bed and then eased down into Bull’s embrace. Bull wrapped his arm around Dorian’s shoulders and grinned when Dorian let out a breath and tucked himself close against Bull’s chest. They drifted off, warmed by each other and lulled by the sounds of the city’s Saturday night.


	7. Chapter 7

When Bull's alarm buzzed, he reached over Dorian to silence it before it could wake him. Whether it was his quick reflexes or just how out Dorian was, the other man continued snoring and leaving a small puddle of drool on Bull's chest. Bull smiled and couldn't resist lightly scratching his fingernails against Dorian's scalp. Dorian sighed and sprawled even farther over Bull, which made slipping out from beneath him tricky, but when he rolled out of bed, Dorian just burrowed deeper into the pillow and scooted to claim Bull's warm dip in the mattress. Bull found a blanket on the floor and draped it over him before heading to the bathroom.

He stretched and shook out his stiff joints and muscles in a quick shower and then pulled on his usual Sunday uniform--ratty jeans and a short-sleeved shirt with a loud floral print. He grabbed a banana off the counter as he passed through the kitchen and ate it as he jogged down the stairs to the front door. Outside the city was still, the street was empty of cars, and every other storefront on the block was barred and locked. Scattered stars still dotted the dark sky. Most mornings, the silent hour before dawn was Bull's favorite time of day, but it paled a little compared to what he had left behind in his bed.

He locked up his apartment, tossed the banana peel in the trash can on the street, and unlocked the bakery. Without bothering to flip on the front lights, he made his way to the back by instinct and memory. He turned on the kitchen bank of lights and the small stereo they had stashed in one corner. The place was in decent shape; Krem locked up on Saturday nights after he finished the one wedding run they did each week. He must have come back after to clean up.

Bull headed into their cold storage and pulled out the early carrots and the quarts of blueberries he'd snagged at the farmers' market. Humming along to the music, he fell into the familiar patterns of washing, chopping, and grating. Once he had a few batches in the ovens, he wandered over to the pantry to see what else he could whip up. Cinnamon was always a good stand-by and Krem had stashed the remainder of the Antivan chocolate he'd imported for a special order, so Bull mixed up a couple more rounds of batter. He pulled the carrot and blueberry out to the ready rack and replaced them in the ovens with cinnamon and chocolate. Though he knew he'd get an earful for it, he used Krem's mixer for a cream-cheese frosting for the carrot before he pulled out the last muffins and headed to the front to open the register.

The sun peeked through the windows as he counted out the day's change. He pulled out their stand-up chalkboard and wrote up the four varieties he'd just finished baking. When he went to place it outside, a few of the dawn joggers already lingered, stretching and chatting about upcoming 5Ks and training regimens. Bull greeted them all by name, reminding them with a familiar joke that not a damn thing on his menu was fat- or gluten-free. They all laughed, and none of them hesitated to line up for their morning fix anyway.

The joggers gave way to the well-dressed older couples on their way to early services at the Chantry and the younger pajama-clad couples with kids too young or pets too hungry to let them sleep in, and Bull handed out a few of the dog treats he kept beneath the display window. On Sundays, suburbanites on weekend outings replaced the workday business crowd. By the time Krem rolled in, tousle-haired and yawning, they'd done a brisk business.

"How was the wedding?" Bull asked as Krem poured himself some coffee from the back.

Krem snorted. "Bride wanted fresh flowers on her cake. Until she didn't. I spent half an hour fixing the buttercream she wrecked ripping them all off."

"Better you than me," Bull replied with a grin. "How'd Maryden make out at the ceremony?"

"Perfect," Krem said with a note of pride. "Though she said if she has to sing Threnodies one more time, she's going to choke someone with a guitar string."

Bull laughed. "Well, what's one more ex-con in our crew?" 

"Nah, it'd be justifiable homicide," Krem called as he walked back to the kitchen. "Oi!" he hollered. "You use my mixer?"

"It just creams so well, Krem de le creme," Bull noted from the doorway.

"Qunari bastard," Krem muttered. He yanked out the bowl with the remains of the cream-cheese mixture and tossed it in the sink. "How's the petit-four perfectionist?"

"Still upstairs," Bull told him, and he couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face.

"And let me guess," Krem demanded, leaning back against the sink as it filled. "You're going to ditch out and leave me here to deal with the brunch rush alone."

"Yep!" Bull confirmed. "Your call whether we close up at noon or do a post-lunch dessert shift."

"Depends. You use my chocolate too?"

"Might have," Bull admitted.

"Andraste's tits," Krem sighed. He turned off the faucet and waved Bull out with the apron he snatched up from his workstation. "Get out of here before you mess up anymore of my shit."

"Yeah, let me off early," Bull laughed. "That'll show me."

Leaving Krem to mutter insults at his retreating back, Bull went back out to the front and packed up a box with one of each of the four varieties of muffins. He rang up a few more customers, then slipped out during the next lull, grabbing some change from the register as he went. He walked down to the newspaper box on the corner, paid for a copy of the day's paper, and then tucked it under the arm with the muffins while digging out his keys with the other hand.

When he poked his head into his stairwell, everything was still quiet. After easing the door closed, he toed off his shoes so he could sneak upstairs as quietly as the creaking steps would allow. He left his keys on the counter but took the muffin box and the newspaper back to the bedroom, which, with the curtains closed, retained some of the night's dark. Bull crept to the window to let in just a bit of light and smiled down at Dorian, still curled around a pillow and breathing deep. He dropped the newspaper to the floor but set the box on the mattress next to Dorian. Then he climbed back into the bed and ran gentle fingers over Dorian's shoulder.

A pulse of warmth spread through his chest when Dorian rubbed his cheek against Bull's pillow, sighing with contentment before blinking open bleary eyes. His focus slowly sharpened, and Bull grinned when the corner of Dorian's mouth he could see curved up in a smile.

"What time's it?" Dorian mumbled into the pillow.

"Little after ten," Bull told him, and he couldn't resist combing his fingers through dark, mussed hair. "You hungry?"

Dorian blinked a few more times before pushing up to his elbows. "Starved actually."

Bull flipped open the lid of the muffin box and nudged it toward him. "Help yourself."

Peering over the edge of the box, Dorian laughed at the four muffins, each easily the size of his fist. "Not quite that starved."

"Wasn't sure which you'd like best," Bull said.

Dorian rolled over and scooted up until his back was to the headboard. Tucking the blanket around his waist, he deliberated for a long moment before pulling out the chocolate muffin. 

"Good choice," Bull chuckled. He reached over to crumble off a piece, but Dorian snatched the muffin away, holding it to his chest.

"Hey," Bull protested. "I made that."

"Well, you should have made one for yourself as well, shouldn't you?" Dorian said, chin in the air. "This one's mine."

"So selfish," Bull said, shaking his head, but he watched with a grin as Dorian took his first bite and closed his eyes, humming his pleasure.

Leaning over the side of the bed, Bull flipped through the sections of the newspaper on the floor. Dorian ate with gusto, continuing soft "mmm"s of happiness, but when Bull sat back up, arts sections in hand, Dorian froze mid-chew. Finishing the bite in his mouth and swallowing took visible effort, and he set the rest of the muffin on the nightstand.

"Is that today's paper?" he murmured.

Bull didn't answer, just held it out to him. Dorian hesitated for several seconds, then took it from him with the air of a man handling a dangerous creature. His eyes scanned the first page, then he flipped to the back. He sucked in a sharp breath, and his lips worked in tiny movements of half-formed words as his gaze darted back and forth. When his eyes stopped, he covered his mouth with one hand while the other still clutched the paper. Then he raised his blanket-covered knees and buried his face between them.

"Shit," Bull breathed, though a weight like a stone pressed on his chest. He moved the muffin box to the foot of the bed so he could slide in closer to Dorian. He didn't touch, not sure if it would be welcome, but he laid his hand on the mattress close beside Dorian's hip.

"The show's amazing, Dorian," he offered. "If some shithead art critic can't see that, that's his problem."

Dorian's head shifted from side to side in mute denial, and Bull raised his arms to pull him close--if Dorian needed some distance, Bull would give it, but he couldn't stand doing nothing-- but then Dorian's head snapped up. He crowed with laughter, and in the next second, Bull had a lapful of very naked, very affectionate 'Vint.

"They loved it," Dorian whispered between kisses pressed against Bull's lips. "All of it."

"Fuck yeah!" Bull shouted, and he crushed Dorian against his chest with one arm while pumping his other fist in the air.

Dorian pushed back to look up at him with shining eyes. Sniffing, he dabbed at one with the heel of his palm, but his smile could have lit the whole damn street. "I'll have to see what's written in the _Herald_ , of course, but this... this is very promising."

"Promising? Shit, this is fantastic!" Bull exclaimed. "We should go down to Varric's again and celebrate. Call up your friends. I'll make another dick cake."

"Not yet," Dorian laughed. "I want to enjoy every minute." He cupped Bull's face between his hands. "Breakfast in bed with a handsome man _and_ a glowing review? I'm not sure what could ever top this."

"We'll think of something," Bull told him. He took the arts section back from Dorian, so he could read aloud every complimentary word. Dorian reclaimed his muffin and snuggled beside him, beaming with excitement and hard-earned joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


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